


On ducks, chocolate and things that shouldn't be

by Undreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22685281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undreaming/pseuds/Undreaming
Summary: Crowley is incredibly eloquent, except when he isn't. Aziraphale is obtuse in love, except when he isn't. When it comes to feelings, metaphors are a demon's best friend.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	On ducks, chocolate and things that shouldn't be

The apocalypse was over before it even began and that was a good thing, Crowley thought. World was safe, well, as safe as it could be with a bunch of power-hungry people who would come up with something really stupid every couple of years, a decade or so, like eating laundry detergents, putting pineapple on pizza (Crowley barely managed to keep a straight face when he received a commendation for that one) or kicking Pluto out of the Solar system and then grieving for...what exactly? Crowley had no clue. Anyway, back to the point...he definitely had one, right?

Oh yes. World was safe. So were they, along with their beloved things, like expensive vintage wine, hot cocoa and (but they were never to find out they belonged on the list) Crowley's plants. So technically, all should be good. Except it wasn't. 

With the Armageddon safely locked away, the very convenient excuse Crowley had for meeting up with Aziraphale whenever he felt like it vanished into thin air. 

Crowley found himself concerned with the F word.

FEELINGS. 

Crowley's thoughts often reverted back to the touch of the angel's hand in his during the bus drive towards their destruction, or at least what they assumed would be one. And he was apprehensive towards a future in which that exquisite sensation would remain only a memory. On the other hand, if you sit in a hole for a long time, say, 6000 years give or take, the prospect of freedom tends to be equally appealing and terrifying. And changing anything about his and Aziraphale's relationship was anything but easy, especially when there was the demon thing involved. Confessing how he felt was one thing, but talking to a being of love about something a demon wasn't supposed to know or feel? That would be like reading one of modern interpretations of Shakespeare to the author himself, laughable at best, at worst...Crowley preferred to think of things less horrifying, like hellhounds or Lucifer's wrath directed at him personally.

So...not changing a thing was safe. But then again, was there any better time for a change? Probably not. Maybe this was the right moment to dare to be stupid. And Crowley excelled at being stupid (apart from all the times he was awfully clever, but when it came to the only angel who ever mattered to him, stupid was the way to go). 

They were just returning from the Ritz and Crowley suggested a walk, you know, angel, to enjoy all the things that weren't supposed to exist anymore but still do, thanks to Adam. It was no surprise that their steps led to the park, their usual meeting spot. And while they stood there, both staring at the calmly swimming ducks and reminiscing about all the good times, the bad times and the awful times (such as the holy water thing, may it forever be forgotten), Crowley made a decision. He would speak up. He would be clear, enchanting, direct. He will confess his f...the thing without remorse, without shame and without dancing around the topic. 

"So..." he began, "...ducks." 

The angel blinked in confusion and stared at Cowley as if he'd grown a second head. "Excuse me?" _Good start._

Crowley took a deep breath and assumed what he perceived to be a casual pose. To any indifferent observer, it might have seemed as a rake-leaning-on-a-barn-wall impression, but Crowley's head was too occupied to notice. "I have a thought on ducks. If...you'd be interested. To discuss. Ducks." Nice and clear, as intended.

Confusion did not leave Aziraphale's face, but then he slowly nodded and smiled at Crowley in a benevolent way. "Anything you find interesting, my dear boy." 

The demon slowly (not) exhaled. "Okay. Good. Great. Um." One deep breath and he continued. "So, let's just...pretend for a second. A theoretical scenario if you will. Let's pretend that there are no ducks, the world is duckless, just...like dragons, but ducks. And another person tells you they saw a duck." He waited for a moment for his words to sink in. "Would you believe them?" 

Aziraphale seemed to be thinking hard. "I'm not sure I follow...but I'll play along. Does the person in question truly believe he saw a duck?"

"Yes," Crowley nodded vigorously. "Yes, he is absolutely sure. He feels the duckiness as something terrifyingly real and he cannot comprehend how it could not be a duck. Even though he should not be seeing any ducks anywhere. Especially not him." The last bit slipped him before he could think. _Bless it._

A frown this time. Crowley didn't like it when Aziraphale frowned, he much preferred to see him smiling, his eyes closed in ecstasy as he was nibbling on something delicious. "Why should he be special in not seeing ducks?" 

Crowley cursed his snake brain. "Let me try again, this probably wasn't the best metaphor...perhaps chocolate would be better." Waiting for Aziraphale's slow nod, he rambled on. "Yes. Chocolate. Um. What if you believe you are offering someone chocolate, but you've had no sense of taste for so long you cannot be sure? And the person you are offering it to is maybe disappointed because you promised them chocolate and it's not, perhaps it is something else, not as good, but you didn't know and then things get awkward and you destroy it all..." His rambling came to a sudden halt when he realized that he may have said too much. He was watching the floating birds with such a focus that he missed a sharp intake of breath next to him.

For a moment, it was completely silent between them, but then Aziraphale spoke. It was soft and barely audible, but full of determination. The angel may have been as soft as a cloud, but his will was unshakeable. "What if I said I didn't care if it was chocolate, a duck or something else? Maybe it is just what the other person has to share that I find irresistible...theoretically speaking," he added quickly. When Crowley didn't respond, he tentatively reached out and laid a hand on the demon's shoulder. "My dear?"

Crowley found himself on a slippery slope, or at least something that reminded him of one very much. He felt something was moving between them, but the control had long since left him. "So...in theory. If it was me. If I told you that I'm experiencing something...unnatural for me? Something undemonic? Or would it be non-demonic? Non demon...demonope...ish?" He finally found the courage to look the angel in the eye. There was no frown this time, only...fondness? He really wished it was that.

"I would want to know what it is. No matter what it may be," Aziraphale announced, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Crowley found himself unable to hold that pure gaze. And the fact that Aziraphale's hand was still on his shoulder wasn't helping either. "Even when you'd be well in your rights to tell me that I am wrong?" he nearly whispered.

The angel gave a disbelieving chuckle. "Why would I tell you that you are wrong? And don't say because it may not be chocolate!" he quickly added when he sensed Crowley might attempt to dodge the question. 

And that was the last straw for Crowley. Growling, he clutched his hair and collapsed against the railing. The ducks were now watching him, looking about as confused as Aziraphale. "Because you know what it feels like and I don't! You...you know the true, pure thing and I can't be sure, even though I'm pretty sure myself, but maybe that's just some kind of...a twisted version of the thing. And if it is, then I don't want you to know because you could be disappointed, disgusted even...and I just don't want to put you through that." _I never want you to think that I'm not who you believed I was._

For a moment, he was certain Aziraphale would leave, that their relationship never got past the Alpha Centauri rejection. And so when he felt those gentle fingers on his shoulder again, his breath may have hitched a little bit. But only a little. "Oh, Crowley," breathed Aziraphale and Crowley could swear he felt something strangely familiar in his voice, something reminiscent of the constant longing that took root in his heart, feeding on the angel's gazes, words, gestures, as if perhaps, by a miracle - because otherwise it's not possible, these things do not happen! - Aziraphale had one just like that, one that demanded Crowley's presence. The angel's perfectly manicured fingertips squeezed him tighter, urging him to look away from the pond. "Don't you see that you thinking this way is proof enough that it isn't twisted at all?" Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley gulped and, thankful for his dark glasses, shifted his snake pupils sideways, to finally meet that kind, round face. "You tell me, angel...you are the only one whose opinion I trust. So if you say the duck or chocolate isn't twisted, I want to believe that. I will believe that." And because his mind could hardly keep up with the development (because even if your mind is demonically sharp, going from 0 to 100 on feeling sharing after 6000 years would do a number on anyone), panic crept into his voice. "Are we still on the same page? Have we even been? Angel, tell me you know what I'm talking about, otherwise I'll have to come up with a different explanation, and a much less coherent one!" Because this was my best shot, the overly honest voice in his head added.

Thankfully, no new metaphors were necessary; Aziraphale somehow managed to squeeze himself between Crowley and the railing and, gently sliding down, his palms were suddenly warm and welcome in Crowley's grasp. "Yes, my dear. Correct me if I am wrong, but am I right that I have just had the pleasure of hearing the most confusing and roundabout proposal ever?" 

Crowley was staring at the intertwined fingers. He did not see this coming, he definitely wasn't ready and he probably should have warmed his fingers up before this happened, Aziraphale may not like cold fingers, and wasn't he supposed to say something? Something to fill the hopeful silence? "Err...yes?"

Aziraphale beamed him, taking a step closer. "Then yes." 

Oh great, confusion was apparently contagious. "Yes...what?" 

"Let's see," the angel began and pulled Crowley closer with his inhuman strength and an undignified demonic squeak. "To list it all: I believe you saw a duck. I believe what you're offering is chocolate. And I would love to spend the rest of eternity watching the non-existent ducks with you and tasting chocolate with you. Anything, as long as it's with you." 

Fortunately, Crowley's brain finally capitulated and gave control over the whole body to his anxious heart. Crossing over those last few inches separating them, the demon did what he had longed for since Eden, for long, long centuries, even millennia. And he was happy to discover that it wasn't only Aziraphale's hands that were soft. 

They were in no rush to separate again, but eventually the moment had to come. Crowley found himself smiling like an idiot, and any other time he might have minded, but just now he came to a realization that a happy idiot was a much better option than his usual depressed genius. "Really anything, angel?" he croaked out, but the smile did not disappear. "Even...bebop?" 

Aziraphale laughed and pulled him back in. "Don't push your luck." 

And the park's ducks (also known as the unwilling inspiration for Crowley's worst metaphor yet and the even more unwilling participant of the closing act of the slowest burn ever) floated away with looks of dignified disgust, because of course, getting together with the love of your life was nice and all, but who on earth took the best feeding spot and did not even attempt to miracle a breadcrumb or two? How rude. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't ask where this came from. I've been planning to write a Good Omens fanfic for ages and the general idea came to me when watching my work collection of rubber ducks (and don't ask about that either). 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading (and for your patience, English is not my native language and sometimes it shows). Comments, suggestions and requests make me happy, so if you have a moment, I will definitely welcome one of those!


End file.
